Bonnett told him.

Sparrow turned a searching look on Ramsey. "This was your idea?"

Ramsey nodded. How long was he standing there? he wondered.

"What are your orders?" asked Bonnett.

"Carry on," said Sparrow. "You are in command." Bonnett turned back to the pressure controls. "Helium below detection range," he said. "Shall we go sit in the mud, Joe?"

"The medics say it's theoretically possible for the human body to take 400 pounds under pure oxy and carbonic anhydrase conditions," said Ramsey.

"Do all of them say that?" asked Bonnett.

"No, only some of them."

"I can see it, now," said Garcia. "An account of the reactions of four human bodies to 400 pounds atmospheric pressure in a Hell Diver Class submarine, with technical commentary on the autopsies."

Ramsey shivered, looked at the red center dial on the static pressure gauge showing the Ram's internal pressure: 297 pounds to the square inch. He glanced at the vampire gauge on his wrist, said, "CO2 diffusion is now .266. We have .054 to go under present conditions."

Bonnett said, "I'll give us 350 pounds internal as a starter." He opened a valve, increased the anhydrase pump setting.

"Two minutes to bottom," said Ramsey. "It's a long thin seamount, ridge running parallel with our course. About ten miles."

"Pressure is holding," said Bonnett. "How long until that pack ranges us?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Behind them, Sparrow said, "Now we're going to find out how well these Hell Divers are built."

"I'm more interested in how well I'm built," said Garcia.

"I'd say the good Lord did an excellent job, all things considered," said Bonnett.

Ramsey thought: Now that was a strange remark from him. More what I'd have expected from Sparrow.

"Lord, we beg your indulgence upon us," said Sparrow. "We who have no right to ask it. Amen."

"Flatten the glide angle," said Bonnett.

Garcia brought up the nose.

"Give us the nose eyes and two searchlights."

The main screen above them came alive, showing a path of light through green water. Pale phosphorescent shapes ranged beyond the limits of the light.

Ramsey looked at the internal-pressure reading: 400 pounds even.

"Ease her down," said Bonnett.

The deck tipped.

Outside pressure passed through 3400 pounds . . . 3420 . . . 3440 . . .

Ramsey found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the dial.

3500 . . . 3520 . . . 3540 . . .

"Diffusion is normal," said Bonnett. "Is anyone feeling ill effects?"

"I feel silly," said Garcia.

"Steady," said Bonnett.

"Be alert for oxygen intoxication," said Sparrow.

The pressure dial passed 3600 pounds . . . 3620 . . .

"Flatten the glide," said Bonnett.

Garcia complied.

"How far to the bottom?"

Ramsey forced himself to look at his instruments.

"Fifty feet."

"Down," said Bonnett.

Again the deck tipped.

Now, they watched the big screen below the pressure gauge.

"There!" said Garcia.

It seemed to come at them out of a green fog; a long pie cut of red ooze slashed from the darkness by the searchlights. A uniform ripple pattern stretched diagonally across the ooze. It showed not a sign of sea life.

Garcia eased up the bow planes and the Ram grounded gently, stirring up a fog of the red ooze which clouded the screen.

"Kill the drive," said Bonnett.

Garcia's hand already was on the switch. The motors fell silent.

Ramsey whispered, "It's 8460 feet."

"A new world's record," said Garcia.

Sparrow stepped forward onto the control deck. "Thank you, Lord," he said.

"I've come to a decision," said Ramsey. "I'm just a natural-born coward. Nothing ever came so easy to me in all my life."

"Is anybody feeling ill effects from the pressure?" asked Sparrow.

"I'm still feeling silly," said Garcia.

"Anybody else?"

Ramsey shook his head, studied the search instruments in front of him.

"Diffusion is .214," said Bonnett. "We're still rid of it faster than we take it in."

Ramsey said, "Great God in heaven!"

"Where else would you expect him to be?" asked Garcia.

"There's a cold current moving in," said Ramsey. "Right over us."

"God spreads his cloak upon us," said Sparrow.

"Pack ranging over us to the south," said Ramsey. "Eight thousand yards."

Bonnett said, "Any indications that they smell us?"

"No."

"They won't look where they don't believe we can be," said Garcia. He grinned. "And that's not strange. I don't believe I'm here, either."

"I'm losing 'em through that cold layer," said Ramsey.

"Skipper an' God are buddies," said Garcia. "Good close buddies. Do favors for each other alla time." He staggered slightly.

Ramsey grabbed Garcia's wrist, looked at his vampire gauge. "Diffusion normal. What's --"

"Oxygen reactions vary," said Bonnett.

"What's wrong with you chaps?" Garcia's head wobbled. He peered at them owlishly.

"Take it easy, Joe," said Sparrow.

"Easy?" He squinted up at Sparrow. "I know you, Skipper. You're King David all over again. I've heard you." He shook his head loosely, lifted his right hand. "'In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried to my God: and he did hear my voice out of his temple, and my cry did enter into his ears.'"

"All right, Joe. Let's go back and hit the sack." Sparrow took Garcia's elbow, urged him toward the after door.

"Leggo me," said Garcia. He shook off Sparrow's hand, staggered, caught his balance, turned, and stared deliberately at Ramsey. "I know all about you, Mr. Long John Ramsey. You look down your long nose at me! Think you know somethin' bout me. You don't know nothin'. Nothin'!"

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Garcia." Sparrow's voice had iron in it, a harsh note of command.

"Sorry, Skipper." He turned toward the door. "Le's go. 'M tired."

Sparrow stared at Ramsey, then turned, urged Garcia out the door.

In the control room there was silence for a moment broken only by the faintest murmuring of stand-by machinery. Then Bonnett said, "Long John? How'd you get a nickname like that?"

Ramsey studied his instrument before turning toward Bonnett. That damned nickname! It could mean only that Garcia knew about his past -- his real past.

Bonnett said, "I asked --"

"Yes, I heard you. A supply officer christened me. Said I was a worse pirate than the original Long John Silver. That's all."

"Pirate? Why?"

"For scrounging extra equipment. Moonlight requisition."

Bonnett smiled. "I don't see why that'd put Joe on his ear. Unless he's jealous of someone better at it than he is."

And Ramsey was thinking: Garcia will tell the skipper. Sure as hell he will.

"Is it extra hot in here?" asked Bonnett.

Ramsey looked at the beads of perspiration on Bonnett's face, glanced at his vampire gauge. Blood temperature normal. He looked at the dial of the thermosystem monitor on his board, said, "Seventy-one degrees."

"My skin feels itchy," said Bonnett.

Ramsey resisted the impulse to scratch at his own forearm, said, "I've been noticing the same thing."

Bonnett glanced at the exposed wiring of the atmosphere controls, checked a dial setting. "Anhydrase generation is double the normal. Gas volume twenty cc.'s per cubic meter."

"We're off in a wild unknown," said Ramsey.

"We shouldn't be," said Bonnett. "We've had carbonic anhydrase for forty years."

Ramsey reset a kick-out meter on his sono-board, looked up at the primary oscilloscope.

"Hear anything?"

Ramsey shook his head. "This C-A is funny stuff, Les. We've pushed chimpanzees to 400 pounds with it for extended periods. Some lived. Some didn't A few of the bright boys think they know why."

"Why?"

"Well, the theory is that C-A acts on a rather nebulous central nervous system thing called the 'metabolic governor' in such a way as to keep us from burning up when available oxygen is increased. They think sometimes the governor gets a little bit off -- out of timing kind of -- and the organism gets caught in a feed-back situation: oscillates to death."

"Why?"

"That they don't know. Maybe the 'metabolic governor' gets tired."

"What're the chances one of us'll get caught that way?"

Ramsey shot a sharp glance at him, looked at the search board. "That's a stupid question, Les."

Bonnett colored. His jaw set.

"If you're trying to get me to reassure you, no dice," said Ramsey. "All I know is we're still alive, even if we are a bit uncom --Signal!" He slapped the switch on the ranging computer read the dial. "Five hundred yards. They're quartering southwest."

"Do we still have God's cold cloak over us?"

Ramsey caught a jibing cynicism in Bonnett's voice he had never noted before. He glanced at the thermocouple dial. "It's been over us periodically. Gone now. I think this seamount acts like a barrier to the Arctic Current. Probably sets up complex whorl patterns." He looked back to the ranging dials. "The EPs are holding course. They're drawing away now."

"Was there any doubt that they would?" asked Bonnett.

"What do you mean?"

"You've some things to learn yet about our skipper," said Bonnett. "Joe wasn't joking. There's an unca --"

The Ram gave an abrupt lurch and the deck tipped two degrees left.